


it takes a lot to understand the little boy enraged

by juggyjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, M/M, Marvel References, Minor Archie Andrews/Valerie Brown, Minor Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 19:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juggyjones/pseuds/juggyjones
Summary: When Jughead is five, he decides to be a superhero. When he’s seventeen, he falls in love with one.





	it takes a lot to understand the little boy enraged

It begins when Forsythe is five, sitting on his bed with a  _Daredevil_  comic on his lap. Mom is gone, sister too, and Dad is drunk, wearing a Serpent jacket. The only person Forsythe has is Betty Cooper, but even she can’t make up for the family he’s missing.

 _You know you’re just one bad day away from being me_ , said the Punisher to Daredevil, and Forsythe could see Dad saying it to him.

He decides— _swears—_ he is never going to become like his father.

It takes him nearly a week to ask his friend to go jogging with him. He knows sometimes she’d jog with her mom, and figures that’s why she’s so eager to accept. The first few times drain him, but he keeps pushing forward because that’s what Matt Murdock would do.

They sit on a bridge one day, taking a ten-minute break between jogs. Betty’s hair is pulled into a ponytail—she’s been wearing it since they began jogging almost two years ago, and now wears it all the time—and her legs are swinging above a river.

“Betty,” he says, “I want to start boxing.”

She looks at him and smiles, just like any other seven year-old would. “Me too! Let’s do it together, right, Four?”

And they do. It takes them nearly a year to get the hang of it at one of her father’s friends’ boxing classes, but once they do, they practice whenever they can. Betty’s mom teaches her defense tactics and she teaches them to Forsythe, because they agreed they’d max their abilities to defend themselves.

By the time they’ve turned nine, they’re one of the best in their boxing class and at school. The two devils, as they are often referred to, push to their limits to be intellectually and physically above their age. They train harder than anyone else, practice when they aren’t studying and studying when they can’t practice. They can throw a punch, land a punch, and recite Newton’s laws in regards of boxing.

There is no one like them.

Forsythe is ten, and he should’ve known things have been too perfect; too smooth. When his dad gets beaten up by a rival gang, they place him in a foster home, away from Betty. He cries and cries and  _begs_ to get back to Dad, but they don’t let him.

That is the first time when he breaks his knuckles, allowing anger to collide his fist with the wall.

He is forbidden from eating that night.

Betty visits him a lot, but they can’t practice anymore. He misses it – his fingers itch and his muscles haven’t felt the strain in all too long; he feels himself growing weak.

At only ten, Forsythe is older than any of the adults.

One time she comes to see him, he’s just been locked up for entering a fight with one of the older boys. She sits on his bed as he practices boxing in the air, helping him as much as she can. But she, too, hasn’t trained in so long because without him, it isn’t the same. She’s now wearing pastel dresses and her ponytail has gotten a little bow in it, and she lost some of the spirits she’d shown him.

“I miss you,” she tells him.

Forsythe stops punching and looks at her, angry. “I didn’t want to change schools, Betty. I didn’t want Dad to end up in the ER and I didn’t want to have to take care of him. I didn’t want to end up in this stupid place, I didn’t want a lot of things that happened. And you’re trying to make me feel guilty for missing me?”

She blinks twice, fast, but he hardly notices. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Well, that’s what it sounded like.” His glare intensifies and his eyes—Betty has never seen his eyes this blue—pierce right through her thoughts. “I don’t want to see you again.”

Forsythe loses his only friend that day, because Betty leaves without a word and never comes back.

A lot of things have changed for him by the time he turns thirteen. A lot of the things he wished for that day when he decided to never become like his father are now erased from his memory, and he finds himself more often than not being the punisher, and not the hero.

He’s no Daredevil. He’s no longer one bad day away from being what he swore not to be.

There’s something to him, the wicked smirk or the lean figure that makes boys at the orphanage afraid of him. He’s got Reggie Mantle on his right and Chuck Clayton on his left, ending injustice and giving the boys their punishments on a rawer way than anyone else.

They call him Havoc, but he calls himself Jughead.

Jughead, as he’s reinvented himself, has a way of getting things. At first, it’s accidental, rage and fury boiling inside him for months of restrained emotions, and he thinks people pity him. But he tried it on Betty that one time, without thinking about it, and it proved permanent.

So now, he has an impermeable tactic. Look at them, focus  _everything_  on them, and say it. It hasn’t failed him once, and he’s only been mastering it.

In and out of foster homes because of his problematic behavior, he’s more alone than ever. He’s thirteen when he joins the Andrews household, and he’s fourteen and he’s still there.

He remembers Mr. Andrews—Fred—picking him up one rainy morning, grin on his face. “Hey, kid. Ready to go home?”

Jughead doesn’t say anything, because it’s not going home for him. Home and house are two terms he sees very distinctively, and ever since Betty left him alone, he’s not quite sure where his home is.

When they finally reach the one-story house, it’s the first time he sees Archie Andrews. He’s red, all freckles and scrawny limbs, and he’s smiling at his foster brother wider than any kid Jughead’s ever seen. There’s something in his eyes, so soft and genuine that he thinks of Betty.

Archie approached him and pulled him into a hug. “Hey, Forsythe! I’m Archie. I’m going to show you to your room and Dad’s going to get your stuff, all right?”

“It’s Jughead, not Forsythe,” the dark-haired boy mutters.

“All right.”

They walk up to the attic, which has been turned into two rooms – one for Archie, one for Jughead. They’re mirror images of one another, and Jughead doesn’t know how to feel about this. He and Archie couldn’t be more different, yet the vibe he’s getting from both Andrews men is different than any other he’s felt, and Jughead Jones knows his vibes.

So, he stays. He’s a troublemaker and Fred often yells at him, but he never calls it quits, and Jughead never makes him do anything. When things get bad, or Jughead’s dad comes to visit (“I’ve been trying to get you back, son, but they wouldn’t let me. I’m so sorry.”), Archie brings gloves into his room and they box until Jughead feels better.

He’s even taught Archie everything Betty and he used to do, and the boy goes from zero to hero in two years.

It’s when they start high school that Jughead finds out the truth about the Andrews men. Truthfully, he’s noticed Archie’s ‘glitches’ from time to time and Fred’s swiftness with everything he does.

Fred sits them down in Jughead’s room, and the look on his face is the one Jughead’s previous foster parents had when they were about to quit him. This is the first time he’s dreading the news, but he’s prepared for it.

He tells him the story of how he came to know himself, and the story of his father, and his father before him. The something supernatural runs in the Andrews genes, but Fred is the first generation who’s actively using it.

He’s the mystery man who’s caught some pretty dreadful murderers and rapists in the Riverdale area. One of them was the man who ruined Jughead’s life by nearly killing his father, and Fred tells him he got what he deserved.

Jughead doesn’t say his idea of his punishment is more severe than a pair of handcuffs and a cell for life.

Then he tells them—tells Jughead, because Archie’s known about this for his whole life—that he’s more precise than normal humans. He’s more instinctive, feeling what’s going to happen a moment before it does. And Archie – Archie creates illusions, sometimes accidentally when he’s overly emotional, and deliberately strong enough to fool someone.

He doesn’t ask how he fits in the picture, because a part of him has always known.

“I don’t expect anything of you,” he tells them. Archie shifts and sits straight, and Jughead has a feeling he hasn’t been told this before. “I’m going to help you get through life. You need to learn to control yourselves. If you want to never use it again, that’s up to you – but you need to be aware of it to the maximum.”

There are things left unsaid and that leaves a bigger impact on Jughead than anything Fred’s actually said. He thinks of the orphanage and the boys there, and Betty, and Mom and Jellybean, and thinks of the Punisher and thinks of Matt Murdock and wonders if he’s already crossed the line.

He knows Fred’s talking about him.

Later that day, Archie sleeps in his room. It’s taking Jughead some time to process what he’s learned, but he’s taking it in quite easily. It’s Archie who’s worried.

“Are you okay?”

Jughead turns on the floor, facing his foster brother. He’s still all freckles and red hair and toothy smiles, but he’s grown quite a lot since Jughead came and is now almost as tall as him. But the glint in his eyes, it’s never vanished – the good that left Jughead’s when he was ten.

“Is he training us to be heroes?” he asks, quietly.

Archie smiles at him. “Do you want to be?”

“Yeah,” Jughead says. Then he turns on his back because he can’t look at Archie anymore.

They’re foster brothers and in the two and half years they’ve spent together, Jughead hasn’t allowed himself to become friends with the boy. Archie constantly tries, makes sure Jughead knows he’s a part of the family and doesn’t seem fazed that the boy doesn’t reciprocate.

Desperately, he wants to be a hero. But he remembers punching boys who hurt someone else, making them cry and bleed and then using his persuasion to get out of the situation; he remembers punching Archie because he wanted to hurt him for being so good, and Archie asking him to teach him how to punch.

Archie was Daredevil; Jughead was the Punisher.

It shouldn’t have been possible, but Archie somehow senses his thoughts.

“You’re not Havoc anymore.”

 _Is he?_  He doesn’t know, and thinks he is and always will be, but doesn’t voice it. Instead, as they survive through the freshman year of high school, and Archie’s falling in-and-out with the resident rich girl Veronica Lodge.

Their hero aliases are a constant game they’re playing whenever Fred’s training them, or when Jughead’s helping Archie in school because he’s finally back to being who he used to before losing the last of his family. Archie’s most often the Bandit, because he’s always wanted to be in a band, and Jughead’s the Demonizer because he thinks heroes should have scary names.

Sometimes, he’s Havoc again, when he’s training with Archie and loses his cool, or attacks a boy at school for bullying someone. He’s not in favor of anyone, and when Reggie Mantle joins their class in sophomore year, he feels like a part of him is lingering onto the thought it’s better to punish than prevent.

Fred sits him down one time Archie’s out with Veronica, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m not your father,” Fred tells him, “and your father looks after you. I’m not trying to steal you away from him. But I’m your mentor and that’s worse than being your father, because if you don’t listen to me, no one who’ll take you in will know how to deal with what you can do. I am your mentor. Archie is your partner. You are here to learn how to deal with yourself, don’t ever forget that.”

He knows what Fred means, and he respects it. He doesn’t wreak havoc any longer, tries to control himself, and sees Fred as his mentor and Archie as his partner. He thinks that’s okay, and thinks he prefers to think of Archie as his partner to his brother.

He thinks of a lot of things when Archie and Veronica break up for good in the second semester that year. He’s happy, because Veronica always dragged Archie into social things Jughead knew he did only for her; because Veronica saw him as an arm candy, when Jughead saw him as the bright star in his life.

The following weeks are spent by intense practices, extreme routines both of them focusing their teenage angst into what they aim to become. Jughead still hasn’t told any of the Andrews men that he’s not like them, he’s not going to save the world, and still lives in the illusion he’s created.

They’re sixteen when Dad comes back. FP is freshly shaved, wearing jeans and a tee, smiling like cinnamon or something freshly cooked. He’s all smiles when he calls Jughead come, giving him the approval of the orphanage.

Jughead wishes he could say he thought twice about it. His bags are packed by the next hour, and by the time Archie comes from a date with some Valerie and Fred from work, he’s gone.

Archie visits him two weeks later. All Jughead can think when he sees him at the doorway is that he hasn’t looked this bad even when Veronica dumped him.

“Jughead.”  _Forsythe,_  he thinks,  _he’s Forsythe again_. “You left.”

It’s raining outside, so Jughead calls him in. They’re in a small apartment Dad rented, and his room is half what it was at the Andrews’s. The boys sit on the bed, looking at each other, but not talking.

“I miss you.”

No one’s said these words to him since Betty. This time, he doesn’t lash out.

“I’m not like you,” he says quietly. “I’m not a hero.”

“Neither am I, Juggie.” Archie stares at him and the glint in his eyes Jughead’s fallen— _no_ —the glint is replaced by so much sadness it sits heavily with him. “We’re just kids. But we can be heroes if we want to. We can change the world. Just because you did some stupid shit when you were twelve doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

“I am the Punisher, you are Daredevil,” Jughead tells him. Archie doesn’t get the reference. “I’m bloodthirsty. I don’t want to save people, I want to make others pay. That’s the difference between us.”

“There’s  _no_  difference between us.”

Jughead feels the need to do two things.

Thing one: point out that the difference between them is obvious to the pain. He’s golden sunlight and bright smiles and Jughead’s after-dawn and impending chaos. The difference between them is an ocean, a reality – not the freckles Archie’s used to hiding with an illusion, or the fact that Jughead right now knows that this is the first time Archie’s bared himself in front of him.

He can see it. He could count every freckle if he wished, and Archie’s hair is more orange than yellow and tousled like it has never met a brush. His eyes are darker, and the scar between his eyebrows is new to Jughead; but he’s raw, he’s scared and Jughead can’t bring himself to point it out.

With Jughead, almost everything’s always been on his shoulder.

Thing two: the one thing that hasn’t is the need to press his mouth on every freckle on the boy’s face. To make him love his scar the way Jughead’s used to, seeing it when the boy was asleep; to kiss away the pain of them being so apart, so different.

“Archie, tell your dad I’m sorry.” He looks at the boy, focuses and feels his heart rip apart. “And don’t look for me.”

Archie leaves without a word, just like Betty did all those years ago. And Jughead—lonely, poor, sad Jughead—sits on his bed and watches him through the window.

He was never meant to be a hero.

Only days later, Fred arrives, pulling him into a hug and looking for FP. They argue for what feels like hours and Jughead has the need to look for Archie, but knows better. When it’s over, the two men sit him down on his bed and tell him  _everything_ , and Jughead realizes maybe his story isn’t over yet. Maybe he can still be a hero.

Dad and Fred’s story goes, they used to work together for a while until Jughead turned three and Mom and Jellybean left, and FP got tangled in with the Serpents. The construction site’s been in the Andrews family for over a century, and the abilities can be traced back to the first generation born on the site.

How do FP and Jughead fit into that? The site’s meddled with FP’s genome, but only affected the first generation born with it. Thing is, FP’s always known Jughead’s special. And Fred’s always known whose kid Jughead is.

And FP? He wants Fred to continue training Jughead. To make a man out of himself, unlike FP.

_Go be a hero. Make your old man proud._

Jughead’s training becomes more efficient and he becomes more focused with Archie. They’re still arguing a little, their friendship strained and Jughead’s now switched schools, but he’s happier than ever.

Sometimes, when the nights are dark and lots of stars are visible and he and Archie are at Sweetwater practicing, he’d think about kissing him. About holding him when he’s sad and apologizing a million times for making him go away then begging him to stay. He’d beg him to stay, if he could, but Archie’s become distant. He doesn’t look for him anymore.

Jughead’s getting stronger.

It’s not until somebody slaughters Jason Blossom that they finally start doing something. They’re seventeen and trying to find a murderer is much harder when Archie’s all about  _preventing another_ , while Jughead’s all about  _making someone pay_.

The next time he uses his powers on Archie is when a boy most often called Moose, from Archie’s school, is another victim. Archie’s distressed and all but crying, punching his heart out on the punching bag.

“ _Look at me_.”

Archie looks at him.

“Remember when I told you not to go look for me?”

Archie nods. Jughead takes a step toward him.

“I take it back.” His voice is merely a whisper, and Archie is losing his focus and is here and there at the same time. Jughead wonders if the static between them is one-sided. “If I do something stupid, look for me. Find me. Don’t let me lose myself, don’t let me become Havoc again. I can feel it brewing in me and I’m scared it’ll take over.”

He doesn’t say  _don’t let it take over_  but Archie understand, and nods.

And the next thing he knows, Jughead’s kissing him. The next thing he knows, he’s kissing the freckles and the scars between Archie’s brows and the redhead feels more  _here_ than ever before.

They fall asleep exhausted that night, tears on their cheeks kissed away by the other’s lips. They’re gentle and they’re soft and they’re nearly two decades sewn of misery mended by a night of stolen touches.

It doesn’t feel like Jughead expected it to. It doesn’t feel like the falling stars, or nights they spent working out, or the time Archie told him he isn’t Havoc anymore, or Bandit and Demonizer. It feels like applying a bandaid, alcohol to broken wound, and all the times he’d punch and practice until he’d no longer remember what made him angry in the first place.

Archie kisses him in the morning, says “I miss you.”

Jughead doesn’t want to get up. He looks into Archie’s eyes and sees the glint in them, and feels something he hasn’t felt since before everything broke down. “If something happens to me, I want you to not do anything stupid.”

“Stupid?” Archie asks with a smile, going in for another kiss.

“Anything I’d do,” Jughead says. “And if something happens to you, I’m going to forget everything I’ve ever learnt about control and burn the world until the guilty is dead.”

He doesn’t say ‘I love you’—neither of them does—but the way Archie kisses him like there’s no tomorrow, he takes it.

They don’t make any promises that day, or when it’s Kevin Keller’s body they find couple days later, or when they barely save Betty Cooper from Hal Blossom. It’s tough and Jughead breaks down when she falls into a coma, tells Archie everything, and hasn’t felt more fragile in all his life. He watches Betty’s fade away, and he feels guilty – she was alone in this, alone in finding the killer and she did, he knows she would, but it cost her everything.

He stays with her, day and night, and tells her to wake up. Archie’s by his side, holding his hand and when she wakes up, he gets everything off his chest.

She doesn’t resent him.

Months later, the three of them graduate each from their high school and train together until they think they’re ready for the FBI. They train through studying criminology, Jughead and Betty, or psychology, Archie. They get an apartment together before they enroll into Quantico, and another one after they graduate.

They’re FBI now, a special, elite order for people like them, and people like Betty. Jughead’s happier than ever, falling asleep next to a bundle of red on the other side of the bed, and waking up to at least one limb sprawled over him.

And they’re superheroes, saving the world from psychopaths and maniacs. They’re lovers, they’re husbands, they’re friends and fathers, they’re godfathers and uncles, saving the day for the world and for their nieces.

They’re Forsythe Jones and Archibald Andrews at work, and they’re the Bandit and the Demonizer when it’s time to save the world.

**Author's Note:**

> this is still, over a year since i've written it, one of my favourite things i've written and i just had to share it


End file.
